Heryn Meleth
by StormTorrent
Summary: Goldanna's life only got more complicated when Alistair showed up. With a house full of children and a well-meaning but MIA husband, Goldanna had been been wrung thin of love and comassion. Grey Warden Tabris makes her think twice about her cold shoulder.


**Heryn Meleth**

"Lady Love"

A Dragon Age: Origins Fanfiction

by: (Penname) StormTorrent

**Foreword:**

This is my first time writing a Dragon Age: Origins fanfiction. I am an unashamed Swooper, but I'd been racking my brain to write something a little more unconventional than the run-of-the-mill Alistair/Warden oneshot of fluff. Thus, the idea for Heryn Meleth was born. Heryn Meleth is elvish for "Lady Love". Since my first play through the game was as FemTabris there is a strong elvish emphasis on my DAO stories. Anyway, the story is written from Goldanna's point of view. I took many creative liberties with details of her life since none are given other than she has five children. It takes place after Alistair's meeting with her in Denerim. I hope you will enjoy this short little blurb about Alistair and his lady love from the eyes of a begrudging sister. Enjoy.

* * *

As if it hadn't been enough of a day already without a good-for-nothing half brother showing up on my doorstep without rhyme or reason. When they'd finally taken their leave, I closed the door with a resolute slam. Wiping my grimy hands on my apron and patting the dirt from my skirt, I sighed. What did he expect from me? Love? Acceptance? I'd had my fill of so called love, of so called acceptance—not all it's cracked up to be. Not at all. What now, Goldanna? Here we are; five hungry mouths to feed, the house a mess, piles of laundry to be done, and a husband away at war. Single handedly I've had to handle this; a life of never ending to-do lists. I wish you could see the state of your Goldanna, my dear Rowan, how you've left your wife and family. What would your Maker think of that? Granted the Maker has kept you alive, my husband. My head began to ache.

"Mum?"

I turned to acknowledge the coo.

"Helena." I breathed, reaching my hand out to my eldest daughter, my expression softening, "What is it, dear?"

"Who were those two people?" she queried. Smart as a whip she was, my Helena, and the only good that came of my drunkard of an ex-husband. Knowing I could not lie to her, for I never could, I sighed once more, sinking into a chair and massaging my temples.

"Grey Wardens, the lot of them. They're fighters like your Papa—but stronger."

Helena tilted her head to the side. She knew of the Wardens, she knew of the war, of the Blight. Smart as a whip, you remember! But still she seemed puzzled, "But that man said he was your brother." She said.

I met my daughter's eyes with my own, thinning my lips into a tight line. Fury pooled inside of me at the thought of being connected to such arrogant snobbery, "By blood, yes love. By heart, not a bit."

This she seemed to process, and dropped her eyes to the ground. Helena had always been privy to the goings on of my life and had an understanding thus far beyond the scope of a normal ten year old. It must come with being the eldest—I was always the same way. She's had to deal with more beyond her years than any girl her are should have to. But it's made her stronger. She's dealt well, she's growing up well and good I'd like to think. Anger dissolving away, I reached out to touch her pretty little head, "Now then, let's finish that laundry, shall we?"

Helena nodded. As we both made our way into the washroom Helena stopped, "Mum." She said, calling my attention. "He had kind eyes, Mum."

I was quiet a moment. The face of that rotten, royal, bastard came to my mind—how I loathed him for what had done; for killing my mother, for being the son of the dirty, cheating king, and not giving a rat's ass about what was going on with my own family. But a stranger he was to me. He wore the gaudy garb of a Grey Warden and the arrogant air of royalty, but his eyes…his eyes. Helena was right. They were kind. They were honest, clear, innocent, and kind. Guilt gathered my throat into a lump. I swallowed trying to wash it down and dismiss my daughter's comment, "Fill the washtub, love."

The sun drooped in the sky, sending an orange glow across the skyline of Denerim. Helena continued work on the wash as I sat glowering at a nearly empty bread box. Half a loaf of staling bread, and two potatoes were all we had to eat for six.

"Come now, Goldanna." I mumbled to myself, "You've dealt with worse. We'll soften the bread with a bit of water and butter, then cut and boil the potatoes. It's plenty for them; you aren't hungry!"

My stomach grumbled in protest.

"Shut up, you." I reprimanded my empty complaining stomach. It had been a long, hard day—of course I needed food. I had to eat something, to stay healthy if for nothing more than for their good; my children. Perhaps I would eat just a little bit of the bread…they wouldn't like it stale anyway.

_Knock, knock, knock._

The rapping at my front door stopped me dead in my tracks. I heard the water from the washtub in the far room stop whirling—Helena was listening as well. No one ever visited this late, not even my customers. Denerim Market wasn't exactly the safest place either. What would they want with me? Perhaps if the knock was ignored they would go on their way.

_Knock, knock, knock, knock._

Again, this time louder. I held my breath.

"Mum, won't you answer?" Helena called from the opposite room.

"Quiet!" I hissed, glaring at my eldest. My heart began to pound. They were sure to have heard her. Fear began to gather inside of me.

"Lady Goldanna, please allow me entry into your home, I mean you no harm."

It was the voice of a woman, a vaguely familiar one, soft and unthreatening. My eyes widened in recognition. Why, it was the elf; the female Warden who was with my half-brother earlier that day! The audacity of it all. How dare she come to my home and at such an hour, "What do you want?" I asked, my voice laced with hostility.

"I just want to talk." She replied softly, her voice like a bell "I brought a basket with some fresh vegetables and spices—if you'd allow me, I'd also like to prepare a meal for you and your children."

Silence. Stillness. Staring down at the half loaf of staling bread and two potatoes I imagined the opportunity to eat a good meal—one that would leave my stomach aching from fullness. It had been ages since I'd had that chance. It had been ages since Rowan brought his commission back to our home instead of the coffers of the Chantry. The children would be able to eat their fill! Yes, but accepting food from a stranger…a stranger I didn't particularly like or trust. What kind of mother was I? I had a choice: to let my children eat and take a risk, or hold a grudge and go hungry.

The survival instincts succeeded.

My feet moved towards the door, everything within me screamed and beat wildly against it, but my hands released the lock on the door and opened it wordlessly, the hinges squeaking an invitation inside.

The Warden wore a simple light-green dress and dark cloak in place of the frightening bloodstained armor she'd barged into my home wearing before. As far as I could tell, she was unarmed, and as she'd stated before she carried a large wicker basket full of all kinds of fresh vegetables. My mouth watered looking at it.

"May I enter?" she asked, pulling down the hood of her cloak, revealing her face.

I could only nod mutely as I studied her. She looked so different from before. Before me stood an elfish woman, pointed ears, tattooed face and all. I'd never really seen one outside of the Alienage before. The only elves I'd ever known were servants of even a lower status than myself; but this woman was stunning and graceful. I could hardly believe she was a Warden; a warrior. Her image was more likened to that of a princess or an angel. Her dark hair was silky and wavy, falling around her ivory face. Her green eyes were like lights, scattering the darkness of my home. I'd never seen eyes so bright. As she moved past me, it was almost as if she was floating. Her gown flowed around her as she walked to the table where she set down the basket and removed her dark cloak. I was speechless.

"I apologize for coming unannounced, and at such an hour." She said, turning to face me.

My throat closed on a courteous remark, "Are you going to cook or what?" was all I could manage.

She only nodded and began removing each vegetable from her basket. My mouth became a fountain. I swallowed, and scurried to the pantry to get a pot and knives.

"I hope you aren't opposed to stew—this is a recipe my mother used to make when I was a child, it's very good." The Warden said, still spreading the vegetables on the counter. She removed three small clay pots from the basket as well; I presumed they were spices of a kind very foreign to me. As she opened each one, removing the small lid, their smell enveloped the house. The scent was intoxicating.

"Stew's just fine." I mumbled begrudgingly, trying my hardest not to sound as excited and thankful as I was. I set the pots and knives on the table next to the vegetables, "Will this do?" I asked.

The Warden nodded, "I washed she vegetables in advance." She explained as she started chopping, "I hope that's alright."

I said nothing in return. The room was silent for a moment, only the chop of the knife was heard. Finally, I had to ask, "So—do you have a name?"

The Warden smiled, not removing her eyes from her work, "Illuvah Thandiel Tabris." She replied.

"Do all elves have such long, confusing names?" I asked with a bit of a spit in my words. My dislike for elves must have been highlighted in that sentence, but the Warden seemed unfazed. Somehow, she was different. She even laughed at my rude question.

"Yes, they do." She said with a chuckle, "But don't bother with the formality, please call me Illuvah."

I shrugged, "If that's so, call me Goldanna and stop with the Lady Goldanna rubbish—I ain't royalty." I said, deftly taking a carrot and knife to begin chopping. The awkward tension in the room seemed to loosen as my hands had something to do. The Warden didn't stop me from chopping and only smiled.

"Goldanna then." She replied, looking me in the eye, "So, where are these five mouths you've to feed, if I may be so bold?"

I paused a moment, not particularly trusting enough to bring my children forward, but before I could speak I was spoken for. A pair of feet pitter-pattered across the dirt floor; my Helena, forward as always, "Well, here's my eldest." I announced, though she needed no introduction.

"I'm Helena." She spoke boldly, "Can I help cook? I'm really good."

A genuine expression of happiness danced across the Warden's features as she welcomed my daughter, handing her a strange looking root, "But of course Helena, I'd be delighted."

Six hands were now busy at preparing dinner, and though I worked, this time I was the silent one. I watched on as Helena questioned the Warden with unabashed inquiries ranging from very impersonal to personal. She always was the curious one. I learned much of the Warden as I listened and prepared the meal. While I chopped the sweet potato, I heard that she was born and raised in the Alienage here in Denerim, and no it wasn't a pleasant place. As I started a fire for the stove I was informed that she'd been traveling with the Grey Wardens for many months and seen many different places. Helena liked that part—she'd always dreamed of travel. Retuning to the vegetables, but still keeping an eye on the fire, I learned that Warden was a skilled swordsman and that the warrior's spirit seemed to run in her family. Finally, when all the ingredients were chopped and mixed, ready to be put on the stove, the subject I knew would arise came floating to the surface.

"Lady Illuvah," Helena started, her eyes sparkling with deep abiding interest, "Is the man with the kind eyes coming for dinner too?"

At first the Warden looked puzzled as she mulled over the question. Then recognition came to her face. It was obvious she understood for her face came alight as she related the notion of kind eyes to her companion, "You mean Alistair." She replied. Helena only shrugged. The Warden shook her head, "No, he's not. He doesn't know I'm here."

Immediately I felt her eyes on me. The last statement was aimed right towards me—then I understood. She'd come to discuss my half-brother, to discuss Alistair, not make pleasantries. I broke our gaze promptly and called into the far room, "Children, come set the table for supper."

My parade of offspring came trailing in. The twins approached timidly, side by side, hands clasped together. They met my side, grabbing fists full of my skirt. Rubbing their silky red mops with my palms, I looked at the Warden, "Tristain and Isolde—my twin little loves." I pat the backs of the girls and sent them off to the cupboard. They looked on the Warden with uncertainty. Helena went scampering into the other room to retrieve the littlest ones. She returned with the baby and the boy. The Warden's expression was gentle as she looked on at the children, my guard was slipping.

"My, you have lovely children." She breathed, nearing Helena, "May I?" she asked, holding her arms out to cradle the baby. Helena's eyes sought my approval. After a slight hesitation, I nodded. The Warden gathered my baby in her arms, as gentle as if she were handling precious china. I was impressed.

"She truly is a jewel." Murmured the Warden, touching my baby's nose lightly with her finger, "What do you call her?" My baby shifted at the Warden's touch, but was silent, comfortable in her arms. I was in awe watching her hold my baby, I shouldn't have been. But she was so peaceful, so picturesque, I couldn't help but be taken in. How could this woman be a Grey Warden? How could this woman have the ferocity and tenacity to face and fell thousands of Darkspawn, yet have the gentleness and grace to cradle my baby? I was truly awed. A small smile pulled the corner of my mouth, "Her name is Andraste." I replied with a lilt of pride, "My husband's a bit of a zealot I suppose…throws himself into servicing the Chantry and the Maker. Said he was called to defend Ferelden by the Maker. Little Andraste here was our gift shortly before his departure to Ostagar some time ago."

The Warden's face turned suddenly ashen, "Ostagar?" she asked, an ominous edge in her question. Had I said something wrong?

I nodded. The Warden turned her face back to the baby and said nothing. "What?" I finally asked after a moment's pause. She only shook her head and bounced Andraste in her arms.

"I think the stew's about finished." She deflected, placing the baby in my arms. I let the strange reaction go and placed the baby in a small cradle near the dinner table. Everyone took their places around the table as the Warden fetched the stew. She served it slowly, carefully ladling the warm and sweet-smelling stew into each bowl. When the last bowl was filled, we sat, thanked the Maker for our meal, and feasted.

The evening was spent on small talk—thank the Maker the Warden had the common courtesy not to bring anything heavy up at the dinner table. As the meal time wore on, the children became especially more chatty, not used to having visitors. The Warden indulged their barrage of questions and silly children's stories. Her replies were kind and wise, and my children waited on her every word. I listened and ate slowly; enjoying every bite. The Warden's cooking was indeed superb, for not a drop of stew was left in the pot. Still, my suspicion lurked the corners of the room.

The meal was done. I sent my children to bed, tucking each one in with a hug and a kiss on the forehead. The Warden washed the dishes while I said goodnight. She waited patiently in the kitchen for me to finish the bedtime routine. I knew what conversation awaited me. As I left my children's bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me, I entered the kitchen. She sat there at the table, with a look so serene, but so blank, I couldn't make out a hint. My defenses flew up around me, my heart icing over the warmth the Warden had taken such care to apply.

"Enough of the pleasantries," I began, "I know why you're here and it ain't going to work. I don't care if you're my half-brother's babysitter or his whore, you cannot convince me of anything when it comes to that bastard. He killed my mother, and now he's parading his name around like some over-stuffed—"

"Pray, hear me out." She interjected, voice level, face still expressionless, "I care not that you know who I am to Alistair. All I ask is that you give him a chance just as you have given me a chance tonight to prove that I am more than what you thought—as I have given _you _a chance to prove yourself more than what I thought."

I was struck dumb by the truth in her statement. Should have known there was a catch to the festivities, to her kindness. But no, it didn't seem an act, and she seemed so sincere—and so she was. As I looked at her, wordless, speechless, a fleeting look of pleading flitted across her features. Her motivation was selfless, pure, simple…human. Guilt and compassion welled within me as I sunk into a chair at the table, still grasping for words to say.

"You are a woman of reason, and also a woman of will. You are more like your brother than you know, Goldanna." She began, her voice lacking it's stridency of before, "Give him a chance to show you who he is, to see who you are, to be your family. He wants nothing more than to find some place to belong. I feel it could be with you—with Helena, Tristan, Isolde, Andraste…he could protect you, provide for you if just given the opportunity to give without shutting him out."

My eyes seemed like anchors to the table, unable to look at her. My tongue seemed pinned to the roof of my mouth, unable to move and form words. After a moment of silence, I felt the warmth of her hand over mine. Instinctively, my eyes rose and met hers. Blinding light in her emerald eyes washed over me. They exuded a familiar feeling so strong, so intense. I opened my mouth.

"You're in love with him." I felt myself say.

The Warden's face colored, but she boldly held my gaze as intense as before. Though she said nothing, I understood it all. Woman to woman we were, sharing the stories and trails of love in a single glance. In that moment, I felt we were the same, one kindred spirit of strength, integrity, and passion. That single look held her heart split wide open to me. I peered in as she allowed. Silence, moments passed.

"There's something I think you should know." I finally said, breaking our held gaze, "My only son…his name. His name is Warden."

As I looked back at the Warden, she adopted a look of surprise, "My husband," I continued, "he revered the Wardens. Saw them as gifts from the Maker—almost godlike, full of wisdom, strength, and integrity."

My eyes fell to my clasped hands. I squeezed them together tightly with a small twinge of shame, "I never cared for those kinds of self-righteous folk. They always set me off…didn't really want to name my son that. It was all Rowan's idea."

I heard the Warden chuckle lightly. I looked back up at her, "But you know; my husband was wrong…they're not gods—they're people. People who are just trying to scrape through life like the lot of us. They try, and sometimes they fail, but that's cause they're people, they're mortal; they feel, they bleed."

More silence followed. The Warden regarded me with a serious look, and only nodded, "I am honored." She finally said in a level voice. I knew she meant it. I did too.

"Well, it's getting quite late." I said, rising from the table. The Warden stood as well.

"Then I shall take my leave."

"Hold a minute," I said, "There's something I want to give you."

I made my way to a small desk in the corner of the room. Withdrawing a piece of parchment and a grubby piece of charcoal, I began to scribble a note. A moment later I finished, folded it unceremoniously, and held it out to the Warden who looked on with confusion.

"It's for Alistair. Don't you go reading it, you understand?"

A small smile alighted on her face, and she took the note gently—tucking it under the neckline, "I understand."

She gathered the rest of her things quietly. I showed her to the door. And so she came and went, just like that. Yet I was left in her wake struck by such a visit. The impact of a stranger…never thought it could be like that. Years of harbored hate for someone I hardly knew were slowly dissolving away. How could I judge him? For he was just like me. And as lost as we both were, as sorry a lot as we were cast we found our way, didn't we? We weren't so different after all, my brother and I. Maybe it was time to start fresh and leave the past behind. Maybe it was time to open my arms instead of using them to push everyone away.

There are things that the Chantry can't teach you, things that common sense won't ever help you understand. Some things you have to learn for yourself. Some things you have to touch and feel to finally comprehend. Forgiveness, second chances, love…The greatest, I've learned, is love. The love of a mother, a sister, a father, a brother, a partner; this is a feeling so intangible, but so strong. It is so strong, but so fragile. I now believe and will not break it. That Grey Warden, Lady Illuvah…I'll never forget that woman. Never. I hope one day our paths will cross again under changed stars and a different story. I hope some day to be as she is, as she showed me in those few hours; strength, boldness, kindness, grace, forgiving, accepting, but also beautifully imperfect…the Lady Love herself.

I will never forget.

_Alistair,_

_You are a sodding mess—with a little elbow grease, I'm sure I could help shine up your dingy armor just right. Can't imagine the rest of your companions, or what have you, have wardrobes any cleaner. Best come again quick to get that all washed up. I'll even do it free of charge. Call it a family discount if you will._

_Don't die out there; for me and for her. _

_Your Sister, Goldanna_

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **Well, I hope you all enjoyed it! Do review, give me feed back. I know there was no Alistair in it, but don't worry, he'll be in my subsequent Dragon Age stories! :) Hugs and love, Ma sarenna.


End file.
